


This could have been called Perineum, but it's not

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Masturbation, Collars, Come Eating, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Facials, Frottage, I'd tag gun kink but it is only briefly mentioned, M/M, Mild Limp Skin Sack Torture, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Sorta Fisting, Sorta Verbal Humiliation, Spit Kink, That in the sense you thought, There is a lot of fucking though, There're some words one might find offensive but they aren't really used as such, Unorthodox Masturbation Habits, sorta voyeurism, still beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29320530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: An exercise in showing the inner motivations and creating literary structure through pure filth.Or the one in which John again gets down on his knees and sucks his %@$^!#, but not only, he also receives a horse dildo as a gift, while the owner of the %@$^!# gets off on having a limp skin sack for %@$^!#.
Relationships: John 5/Tim Sköld
Kudos: 2





	This could have been called Perineum, but it's not

**Author's Note:**

> Or maybe it is just pure filth.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> It is a sequel to this one: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572514
> 
> English, just like it was back then, is not my native language. 
> 
> Have fun.

***

As it was previously hinted at, the bus scene was not the end. It was only the beginning.

Though, of course, for both the actors in the scene it was a different beginning. 

For John, it was a trigger to start thinking. Thinking about... Well, John thinks he thinks about Tim. 

John thinks about things Tim's thinking, trying to figure them out, trying to guess what the topic on Tim's mind that makes Tim's face and body look like that might be. He's hot. Hot and relaxed. And deep somewhere, deep in thought John cannot follow, even though his mind tries. 

John still thinks Tim's hot. John thinks - that almost consciously - that Tim is seriously obsessed with his cock.

John is aware he plays long hours. He sometimes even wonders if that might make other people... bored? Those wondering hours are much shorter. 

And with Tim, John simply knows it's not that. It's not just because Tim grows tired of his obsession with the tunes and entertains himself with what he has on hand. John knows that, despite Tim sometimes saying he is tired of _this bullshit_.

John knows that his house or his hobbies aren't entertaining for Tim. He knows Tim is here for a reason. He knows Tim isn't here every day. He knows, that for all the fun they share, they seem to have different ideas about what fun means. 

And yet, despite not knowing how to spell out Tim's ideas - he's still confused about them, though Tim expressed himself: something about days of the week and easygoing people; a bit about dignity and self-respect; and being passionately opposed to this bullshit he is tired of - John knows, John is sure, that Tim isn't bored here, with him. 

Tim doesn't look like that. John thinks, this might be something Tim calls lazy hours, but during most of them Tim looks... 

The word John isn't really looking for is _engrossed._ Tim looks engrossed.

And John might be unconcerned with words, with looking for them, he might not even be entirely aware he is thinking about all of this, but this he sees. He sees - lifting his head from his guitar - how Tim looks when he is with him, and he knows that Tim's not bored. Might be obsessed. Or something else.

That John doesn't know for sure. That John still thinks about.

John thinks about that, lifting his head from his guitar and finding Tim sitting opposite of him, eyes closed, legs spread, another one of John's guitar which Tim picked up during the first one of his lazy hours with him now put aside, Tim's hand covering his crotch and moving, slowly moving, fingers rubbing at the skin under the fabric, then pulling at it, pulling his cock out.

John is surprised, when he sees that. Every time. Not in the sense of having not expected it, because he finds Tim like that very often, because this is why he thinks Tim is seriously obsessed, but in the sense that he is not sure how Tim can do that. The way he does. 

And also - in the sense that he is not sure how Tim can be that hot.

That thought drives all the others out as he lifts his head from his guitar from time to time to check up on Tim. That thought is all that stays in his mind when he stops playing. 

But before that, before that John thinks about the way Tim deals with it. With this state that's not a curse and not a congenital disorder, that's a dysfunction Tim might not have even noticed, John thinks. John thinks he himself would. He thinks, were it to happen to him, he'd be... upset? Maybe, even hurt. He doesn't go that deep. If somebody delved deeper for of him, they might write a paper about parts of his intriguing brain that are responsible for dignity and self-respect, they might draw conclusions and form theories, but, obviously, there aren't people like that at John's house. 

There're guitars, his outfits, his make up, there're bras and panties - they aren't his - and other traces of all those other visits of all those other guests - and there is him and Tim. 

Tim doesn't look upset. 

John looks perplexed - and at Tim. John thinks, that were it happen to him, he might not know what to do. Would he be that flirty, sure of himself and careless, would he not feel compelled to state that he is... No. He doesn't go that deep. He shakes his head, wrinkles his nose, purses his lips, touches the strings, he thinks that were it happen to him, he'd be upset, he would, who cares that he prefers his partners to be more active, he'd be upset, after all, it is his... He cuts himself short there, his ears catching something in the tune he's playing, something wrong.

So he corrects for it. He lifts his head again. He looks at Tim.

Needless to say, John might think many interesting things, but he is not entirely aware he thinks them. 

He almost knows that he thinks about Tim. Tim's hot. Tim's not upset. Tim likes it, Tim is weird, Tim might be obsessed, Tim mutters all those words John knows too, those names he uses for his cock, lips quirking - there is a flash of teeth - and eyes closed, hand moving faster, Tim swearing, getting up, pulling his unbuttoned shirt off himself, jeans too, pulling off everything and falling on the couch naked, spreading his legs and grabbing at himself and moaning, raspy.

This is usually when John gets hard and stops thinking altogether.

But before that, since this is still the current subject, John thinks about Tim - about things Tim thinks. Does he imagine something. If he does, then what. What is it that he likes. Why does he call it that, isn't it like calling someone names, it isn't someone, it is something, but John, were it happen to him, were he called that, his cock, that is, he wouldn't like it, he'd be... 

Yes, he might be offended, but he doesn't know that.

And those questions there are not how John forms his thoughts about things Tim thinks. His thoughts are far from being questions. They are...

It's a bit hard to explain exactly what they are, since John himself doesn't even know that he has them. So...

Or maybe not.

Because if he thought harder - or, better, if he asked Tim, if Tim then cared to answer, he would discover that Tim's thoughts are pretty similar to many thoughts of his.

Or maybe not.

Because for Tim the first scene was a reason to remark briefly to himself that what he thought of as an exaggeration is actually an understatement, that without counting the exact number of the damn guitars, and that without it because there are much better things for him to do. 

Like, he could put the damn guitar aside. Then, spread his legs. Slide down and relax some more. Then look at John, still playing, engrossed in his own tunes, his hands - he's got nice hands - his outfit, his make up, hands - he's got nice fucking hands - and lips, nice fucking lips, wouldn't that be really nice if John put those nice lips of his - or hands - right on him, right on his cock - and maybe balls - and did things he's great at, oh, that would be really nice. If John just pulled, pulled at the skin, then twisted it, twisted his limp cock like it is something he's trying to squeeze out, a shitty sausage or old toothpaste or a damn space sausage in a toothpaste-like tube, whatever, it would be really nice, if John just did that, that too, just pulled and twisted, licked and sucked, and definitely at the balls as well, just took them in his mouth, deeper, his balls and his leather sack, all of it, if he just did that and let Tim look at him, at his stretched lips and filthy eyes and at his running make up and at those thoughts Tim practically can read written on John's obscene cocksucking face, those thoughts Tim'd voice for John as John was coming, stuffed with his saggy pouch all the way down to his throat and moaning, staining the floor Tim'd offer him to clean - that is another one of those thoughts he's reading - wouldn't it be fucking nice, if John came looking up at him and letting him look too, it would be really fucking nice, if Tim then came as well, if John just kept his damn mouth on him or his hands, if he just squeezed him, while Tim was having his way with his own hole, or not, or John, if John did that for him, John or anybody else, whatever, if somebody just fucked him until he came and watered those sentences he's reading off John's filthy, pretty, obscene cocksucking face and...

Fuck.

Well, these are the things Tim thinks. 

Or, rather, these are the things he thinks in the beginning. Then, his own thought process carries him away and further.

John thinks about that, and if he asked, Tim'd tell him, but John wouldn't, yet if he did, Tim'd tell him exactly that. He thinks about his hammock and about being fucked. That's it. Just that.

Come on, what else can he think about. He's jerking off.

Though, maybe, it might not look that way, Tim figures. Tim figures, it can even be confusing, figures, that it confuses John. Tim sees him looking, when he glances at him from time to time, at his dangly hammock he's pulling at and twisting and at John, from under his eyelashes, eyelids heavy, Tim sees John looking at him, his forehead and his nose wrinkled, his eyes narrowed, John chewing on his lips, while his amazing, really amazing hands keep playing something Tim's tuned out.

Tim is not surprised by that. He is aware that most people, if they feel like sculpting, buy clay or playdough, he's aware they don't just start kneading cocks. So he isn't really surprised, though he does not give this much thought.

Also, he is a bit surprised by that. He thinks - of course, very briefly, there are much better things to think - back, about the bus scene, he thinks _what's fucking up with him_ , thinks _didn't he already see it that time_ , thinks _did he think it was a bit of private entertaining I designed specifically for him and for that special occasion_ , thinks - rarely - _I told him what I liked, so..._ , he rarely thinks that last part and never - what he might've thought after it, he switches back, because the thought of entertaining John by jerking off is a much better thing to think, and doing that is a much better thing to do than thinking all this bullshit. 

So that is what Tim does and thinks, until his thought process carries him even further. And then, then he thinks about being fucked. 

He also gets up. Undresses, quickly. Falls on the couch, spreads his legs, puts one foot up if he needs access right away. Pulls at his cock and hears his own raspy moan. And then again, and twists, and squeezes, pulls at the balls, just squashes all of it, all that he previously thought would look fucking nice stuffed down John's throat and in John's mouth, and after a bit more of that spits on his fingers, maybe licks them, sucks them, he is not sure, by that moment, he's usually not sure what exactly he's doing, what he's entertaining the public with, and by the time he shoves his somewhat dry fingers in his hole, clawing at the very entrance, digging in and pushing, pulling, stretching, rough, by that time he usually forgets that there was somebody with him. He goes really deep.

If John knew that, he might become... upset. John might feel a bit offended, if he knew that Tim is jerking off in front of him while thinking of being fucked by some other person, of somebody else and not of him. 

If Tim knew that, he'd laugh. He'd say... _Didn't you fucking tell me you weren't into that_ , he'd say. _And also_ , he'd say, _who's stopping you? I'm not. So..._

 _Fuck me, if you want_ , he'd say.

And if he'd say that, John wouldn't know what to say. He wouldn't even tell him that he knows, were he to learn that Tim thinks of some other guy, that Tim imagines somebody but John fucking him. He wouldn't say a word.

And in reality, he wouldn't need to. There isn't anything to learn. Tim doesn't think that, that, what John might think he thought. Fuck knows what, that's what he thinks. About fuck knows whom.

It isn't somebody. It's anybody. Might not be a guy. Might not even be a person. Just something that is capable of fucking him. Of having his or her or its - Tim's own, actually - way with him. 

If Tim went that deep, which he does, he'd realize he's thinking of himself. About himself only. 

About being fucked, that disconnected from anyone doing the fucking, and about his limp cock, that definitely still connected to him, to his own body. 

If someone else went there too and delved as deep, Tim'd answer, Tim would tell them, he'd say that he's getting off on having a limp cock, a dangly, sagging, flaccid leather hammock, and if he was questioned further, he'd shrug, he'd say _how would I fucking know, I guess I'm weird, ask those nosy scientists, I'll even hop into their MRI machine, whatever._

Bullshit. That all is just tiring, boring bullshit.

It is much better to jerk off.

It is also really nice to come. Throw his head back, screw in the fingers, deeper, grind down, feeling how the loose weight of his limp skin sack moves, dangles, brushing against his thighs and bumping into them, it's really nice to tug at it and maybe, if there is currently enough grey matter in his brain, tug at the nipple ring as well and bite his lower lip and come, hooking his fingers into the pulsing flesh and moaning out loud and saying something he can't hear, though it is probably either _fuck_ or _fuck me._

It is not bad to then open his eyes. It's fucking great to see John looking at him. It's so great, that even though Tim sees John three seconds after his own - and a quite intense one - orgasm, even though he simply can't, it hasn't happened to him for a long time, Tim still feels like he might go rock hard right away - just because of seeing John. 

And that would be because by the time Tim comes, John finds it really difficult to sit still and do nothing. Because by that time John is rock hard, rock hard and leaking, squeezing his thighs together and whining with every breath he takes, by that time John clenches his fists so hard there're marks, imprints of his own nails on his palms, by that time the only thing John wants is to get up and come closer to Tim and... He doesn't know what comes next.

It might be anything, but anything is limited by whose anything it is.

But since he's not alone in there, since he is with Tim, he doesn't need to know. Tim has a pretty good idea, despite still panting, despite his head still spinning like a pendulum were it to spin in space.

"What, you, come eating cocksucker," Tim usually tells John. "Did you choke on your drool looking at my skin bag?"

This - or something like it. And he continues.

"Crawl," he says. "Whore," he says. "On your knees," he says. "Yeah, like that, fucking lick it up, you filthy freak, fucking eat my junk," he says, and as John does, getting up only to sink down, crawling towards him, biting his lips and feeling his face go hot, his face and cock and balls and ass, as John kneels before him, tilting his head up and moaning obscenely, when Tim wipes his stained hand on his cheeks and chin and nose and his open mouth, Tim keeps speaking, Tim goes on, as John sucks his come off his fingers, Tim rubbing them over his tongue he sticks out on command, Tim talks, still panting, dizzy, thirsty, still hot himself and again hard despite not being able to get hard, Tim tells John things he thought of, only putting them in words that are accessible, giving them real life shape, spilling out filth that's covering John's face underneath Tim's junk John's swallowing, Tim tells John fuck knows what about fuck knows whom who's having his way with John who is nothing but a dirty hole to have a way with, while John rides his boot, rubbing himself off on him, and coming in his pants or, if there was enough grey matter in Tim's brain to tell him that, onto his boot he'll have to clean, to lick until it's shiny with his amazing tongue. Which John does.

Duh.

That bus scene was not the end of their shared fun, you see, it was only the beginning. 

And obviously, what was described above is not all that starts happening between them.

And sure, what starts happening between them is not anything, but it is something, and this, just lazy hours of sitting together at John's house with guitars and jerking off followed by some bullshit talking, is way too limited for what Tim thinks of as something.

Like, it's not only John's tongue and lips and mouth and throat and hands that are amazing. John also has a very nice ass. 

So while they are having lazy hours of spending hours in bed, cuddling, watching something on TV and chatting - those two last tasks are mostly performed individually by each of them - while they get hard and stay pretty flaccid being closer to each other and together, at the same time, Tim asks John to roll over, asks, after peeling his jeans off him not without effort, if he could rub himself over him, his butt, that is, and his ass too, his hole, because John has a great fucking hole. And because John rolls over, because John obviously says _yes_ , they also do exactly that, Tim does that, leaning over him like the Tower of Pisa, his whole weight on one hand, Tim rocks his hips, pushing between John's cheeks, rubbing his saggy hammock into his hole, and his other hand, even though it's a bit of a strain, if he's honest, his other hand he needs to spread John's cheeks, to pull them apart as best he can, because that view is... 

Tim is a little lost for words at it, to say the least. 

And despite Tim's saggy hammock not getting inside his hole, it being saggy, John's pretty happy with this type of fun they have as well. 

Tim might be lost for some words, but definitely not for all of them. Tim tells John things. If not about the view itself - he isn't an art critic, after all, and even if he were, there's nothing to criticize in there - then about what he feels like doing to it. What, he feels, John wouldn't mind him doing to it. 

Tim questions John, making him state his wishes too, because that seems to work even better, until John starts saying _please_ and nothing but it. Tim asks John what it is John wants him to do to his filthy fairy hole, to what holes like this, like _him_ , are there for, Tim makes him - well, not really, these are all phrases written on John's very ass, okay - say that he is a slut, a whore, an orifice for cocks, a come dumpster, if Tim judges that John is in the mood - usually he is - Tim tells John that all he wants is for him to stuff his hole with his flaccid sausage all the way up to his throat, he tells him that he wants to take it, to get fucked by it, to come on it, and tells him to confirm his own words - John's own words - and John does. And after John does it enough times, he starts whining, starts pushing back, arching, impatient and obscene, he starts saying _please_ and nothing but it, and that means that Tim is bound to run around the room looking for lube and he is bound to do that very soon.

And he does.

The curse doesn't get lifted, obviously, it's not even a curse, just a medical condition and, in Tim's opinion, a fun one, so no flaccid sausages end up in John's ass, it's usually Tim's fingers - or one of the dildos, if Tim notices them while running - that end up there and, though not all the way up to John's throat, but pretty deep and decently many of them, that after some skillfull stretching. Tim, John thinks, usually at times like this, has really nice hands too.

John, may it come as a surprise, is also quite fond of Tim's flaccid sausage. Yes, it never gets inside him, but it grows on him thanks to all the fun they share, yet in this case it stays abandoned, once John starts saying _please_ , lifting his hips and arching, pushing his ass back, but Tim... Tim's not upset. He knows he'll get his precious view he can't describe a bit later. Not only that, he's also quite fond of the one created by his fingers too. He is quite happy with it. He is engrossed.

Which doesn't interfere with his speech. 

Tim's ability to narrate John's own thoughts to him stays intact, as Tim slides three, four, oh fuck, five of his fingers in John's ass, smooth and much less rough than he would do were it his own ass, moving his hand to a slow, teasing, yet still steady rhythm, so Tim tells John things, leaning over him, pushing his head into the pillow, John's spine arched like the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile. Though this comparison is not the one Tim draws. 

Tim pushes his five fingers in John's hole all the way up to and past - wow - the knuckles and tells John how stretched and fucked out his hole is and how he'd be taking it if he slid his whole arm in there, right to the elbow, what a good little cockslut with a huge ditch he is, and all the words he knows that would invoke the word _faggot_ in John's mind, because the word itself he saves for the last few seconds, he says it right before John comes, on command, right after Tim tells him to do just that and right before John moans, deep, obscene and loud despite the goddamn pillow and clenches, while Tim stares at his pulsing flesh.

John, should we speak of him, doesn't do much. Come on, he's lying there with Tim's hand in his ass and then he's coming with it still being there and then... then he also doesn't do much. 

John simply listens to Tim's grunting, swearing, to Tim's ragged breath and to Tim's now completely incoherent speech in which he still mentions him, John lies there, panting and fucked out, dizzy, thirsty, feeling used - and not only that, he lies there, feeling Tim's hot, wet, breathless exhales - maybe kisses - on his shoulderblades or neck, and the hot, soft, dangly touch of Tim's cock on his thighs, butt, the small of his back, John feels Tim's come spilling on him, over his skin, John feels Tim come, knowing that Tim is clenching around his own - and now not so dry - fingers he himself has just been coming on, though Tim doesn't do that around all fucking five of them. 

It's not that he's opposed. There is just no time for that. 

It isn't always like this. Yes, right now there might be no time for anything apart from falling on John, right on the pool of his own come staining John's back, no time for anything apart from hugging him until there are enough receptors in Tim's brain to actually demand of him that he get up and bring them their much desired nicotine. It is all true, but time is pretty supple.

So it not only shrinks, it also stretches, it drags, but pleasantly, and Tim feels even more relaxed than he does most of the pretty supple time, Tim feels, maybe, a bit drousy, Tim feels this tenderness he wouldn't care to describe, because it is too elusive, it escapes right through his fingers he starts running over John's naked body after he wakes up, it too happens when they are in bed, after they have slept, after something else they both find fun has happened, it happens, when Tim feels like touching John not only with his fingers, hands and lips, but with his whole body, and what he ends up touching him with is... 

Well, usually, it is his limp cock. It's just... He might be. Okay? He might be seriously obsessed with it. He might be, no matter what John thinks.

And John thinks many things, most of them contradictory and inconsistent, John ends up thinking his thoughts on his own, his thoughts he is not entirely aware he has, because Tim isn't reading them, while rocking his hips gently, hand on the headboard, knees around John's busy, complicated head, Tim isn't reading them, because his eyes are closed. He's in a somewhat rare mood. 

Were he to look at John, he'd of course understand what John is thinking. He'd see that John's confused. He'd see he's all alone with his own inner narrative Tim usually voices for him. But Tim doesn't. It's not that he's opposed. He finds John's face rather pretty. John's pretty face with his limp cock on it is even prettier. It's beautiful. It's just he's a bit drousy, he's relaxed and kind of floaty, and there is that tenderness that makes him move so slowly and cup John's head, and spread his fingers in his brittle hair and comb it, as he moves, as he feels the curves and lines and dents of John's pretty face with his soft, loose, dangly bag of skin, John's lips, John's cheeks, John's eyelids, even lashes - there is mascara on his cock when he is done - John's whole pretty face, John skin he's touching with his own, John's whole pretty face, he feels, he's touching with his whole body...

Even Tim himself thinks his mood is a bit nonsensical. 

But, like, you know how some men name their cocks and bond with them and almost identify with them as if their dignity and self-respect is stored in there? Yeah, like that. So, maybe, Tim has the same relationship with his condition. Maybe he feels he is that soft, loose, dangly bag of skin, because he is... whatever.

He's weird. His claim about his readiness to hop into an MRI machine still stands. Whatever. There're much, much better things to do.

Like, when Tim comes, which he does after a while, without clawing his way into his own ass, without having his own way with it, with simply running his fingers over it, over his hole, and rubbing at it, slowly, gently, teasing, fingers, for once - or twice - wet enough, when Tim comes, a bit surprised himself that he does, though he's aware he is able to, he knows he can come like that, it only takes him a long while, which it did - but he was in no hurry - when he comes, moaning continuously and feeling John's hot breath and John's hot open mouth with his cock that is about - wow - to spill, when he orgasms, while John thinks the things which are leaving him confused and somewhat nervous and upset, maybe upset, he is not sure, he is aroused, hard and leaking, he's whining, his voice sounds, even to his own ears, like he's almost crying, he's shaking, shivering continuously, he thinks the things Tim says to him, but not right now, the things he doesn't think he thinks, he only knows he thinks _please_ , but what comes next he doesn't know, is it _please, stop_ or maybe _please, continue_ , because it is just _please_ and it is followed by a hot flash that runs fast through his whole body and that one's followed by a cold one and again, the word he isn't looking for is _discomposed_ , he feels so discomposed, while Tim is coming, spilling on his face and staining him even further with his motions, and when Tim does, a bit after that, he glances at him, Tim looks down, his hand also dropping, touching John's face he's just spilled on and smearing come, his cheeks, his chin, his lips, eyelids, even lashes, Tim looks at John, still hazy, panting, and what he says is _wow_.

 _Wow_ is the only thing he says - and it's all his. The only word. Well, apart from the question that he adds. 

"Want my mouth?" Tim asks him, Tim asks John, he kisses him, gets off him, limbs heavy, moving slowly, slumps down, hugs him, pulls him close, as John still shivers, Tim sees that, feels that, and also John's rock hard, leaking cock, Tim covers it, wrapping his fingers around it and running them along it, Tim thumbs the leaking slit and John's breathless mouth, feeding him his come, using it as paint to draw lines on John's amazing tongue. 

Tim kisses him, his come covered, flushed, hot, confusing face and also his mouth, Tim licks into it, leaning over him, and then withdraws just a bit and offers John his.

Were John not as discomposed, he'd be surprised. He is surprised. Surprised that he whines out something that sound like _yes_ even to his own ears. He whines out _please_.

Tim sinks down.

John ends up thinking he thought nothing about all of this, it's a bit strange and weird and unusual and he doesn't sink that deep, he is confused and inconsistent, he's discomposed about it, but Tim's mouth is... Tim is hot. His mouth is hot too. Tim moaning, low, _pleased_ , as John comes, soon, arching, spilling helplessly on Tim's - wow - tongue, Tim moaning, as he swallows him, is also really, really hot.

Nothing can stop John from thinking about somebody who's that hot. So what that in this case he thinks he doesn't.

It's just... It's just not how it goes normally. It isn't bad. 

And how it goes normally is too quite fun. 

Like, Tim rubs his limp cock over his face, sometimes even hair - that makes John think he isn't thinking too - and talks, Tim tells him things and threatens him, with what - this is Tim's knowledge of the situation - John actually wants to happen to him, Tim swears, calls him names and tells him he will slap him for being what John thinks he doesn't think he is, Tim tells John to tell him what he is, and John says he is a slut, a whore, a dirty hole for cocks and all those words Tim says instead of saying _faggot_ , John says that he is all of that, hot flashes travelling up and down his body, cock rock hard and leaking, John kneeling on the floor before Tim, Tim's limp cock rubbed over his face, John says that, because Tim tells him to, Tim questions him and - and this is something neither of them thinks, because John doesn't, and Tim likes him - allows him to say that, Tim also forbids things, Tim tells him not to fucking touch himself, _oh, don't you dare_ , Tim tells him, _don't even think of that_ , Tim says, Tim tells him to put his hands behind his back and to stand still, stand there, kneeling on the floor before him.

Which John does. 

That is quite a common type of fun they share.

And it is fun. And Tim buys John a collar, among all other things he buys, as a present, and puts it on him, also quite often, and pulls at it, making him look up, and tells him to keep his filthy cocksucking mouth open as he spits in it.

John thinks he doesn't think at all when Tim does that.

Tim pulls at his hair, holding him in place, pushing him into his crotch, John's mouth open, stuffed with Tim's limp cock he's definitely capable of using to have his way with John, nose almost touching Tim's taut stomach, John feeling full and... and... and...

Overwhelmed. 

This is the word John isn't looking for. This is how, among many other things, he feels, while coming, eyes rolling back, when Tim allows him to, tells him to, pushing him over with the words he says, hand on John's head he wouldn't let anybody near, unless they were this hot and this capable of fucking with it, John's own hand on his own cock, moving, fast and hurried and then stained, flooded with the hot mess of his own come.

What John does next, after he comes, he also would do himself, he has, but with Tim telling him to do it, raspy, low, growling, it is more...

It is fun.

The words one isn't looking for are limited by the identity of one who isn't looking.

Though, when John licks up his own come, still shaking, panting, red and looking up and utterly obscene, Tim doesn't say a thing. He could. He has. But he really likes John. 

So he chuckles. Shakes his head. Raises his eyebrows. Smiles. And simply stands there, letting John rest his head on his naked thigh as long as John feels like doing that. 

Tim combs John's hair.

"Hey, do you want me to... you know," is what John says when it is what he thinks. He is composed. He's flirty. Tim's cock not hard, but John knows Tim is still aroused. He wants to see him discomposed. He wants him hot.

"I know what?" Tim asks, putting the cigarette out, the cigarette he's having by the window, he says that with a bit of smirk. He knows what. He's just in his normal, playful mood.

John still pshaws at him. Their games are fun.

"Do you want me to do... something?" he asks Tim.

Tim chuckles, coming closer.

"Something? I would love that," he tells John. And then he bends or, sometimes, sits on his heels, then he looks at John, right in his eyes - that after looking at his mouth. "I'd fucking love it if you ate me out till I go mad. Is it that something?"

And it could be that. John is not opposed to this idea.

And since he's not, Tim spends an endless period of time that stretches, drags, insanely pleasantly, Tim spends it with his forehead pressed into the back of the couch, shuddering, unable to stand still, his eyes closed and wet, because he does go mad while John eats him out, so mad he moans continuously, almost sobbing, thinking - barely - about John's tongue only, about how helpless he is under John's tongue, about how useless, flaccid, saggy, dangly his untouched cock is, about how he won't fucking touch it, how he won't allow himself touching it. Thinking about _not being_ fucked.

Tim's not opposed to that, when that feels like it does. And it feels amazing. John is amazing, and everything he touches with his tongue - or lips, or hands, or fucking anything - everything of Tim's turns into pulsing flesh. That's how Tim feels. Amazing - and like a helpless pile of pulsing flesh that's not even being fucked. 

Amazing.

 _Fun_.

It is fun, since he also gets to come in John's extraordinary fucking mouth John puts on him when he, Tim thinks, deems he's mad enough, when he's done having his teasing way with him. John doesn't do that, doesn't deem him anything but hot, but it is not to say that Tim is wrong, it is to say that Tim being insanely hot is the only thing John thinks, while sliding down, turning, covering Tim's cock with his lips, taking him in his mouth and swallowing, it seems, a second later, after Tim hurriedly shoves his completely dry fingers in his hole and claws it, hooking himself up, his own pulsing flesh, that is the only thing John thinks, while swallowing Tim down, as Tim himself thinks _wow_.

WOW.

And this _wow_ happens, because Tim's cock and its continuously flaccid state grows on John. Because he's fond of it.

He's a bit... upset with Tim. With that thing he said about his fingers not being good enough for him - though that is not what Tim said. 

But, obviously, John doesn't think he is upset with Tim, he doesn't think he is in the least offended by his words, he only thinks Tim's hot, definitely hot, and his saggy skin bag, which, John notices, he calls that not without fondness, being obsessed and weird, his limp cock is also kind of hot. The way John can just touch it, any time, and Tim doesn't mind. The way Tim lets him play with it. His face that tells John that he likes it. He really likes John doing that. He arches, turns to him, he spreads his legs a bit, giving him all the access, and smiles at him, humming, moaning, low and soft. Tim shivers, when John plays with him. Tim tells him he's... What Tim wants to tell is that John's pretty, but he's rarely in that mood and also, also he tells John he's filthy. Obscene. A tease. He tells John he is X-rated and should be fucking banned. Tim likes John. Tim also knows what John likes.

So while John plays with Tim, with his flaccid hammock, he gets to listen to Tim saying things to him. It's hot. Tim jerking his hips up uncontrollably is so hot too. Tim humming, moaning, muttering something about things John does to him, closing his eyes, biting his lips, letting John do the things he does to him and... quivering? It is hot. It's really hot, when Tim's limp cock jerks too. Tim isn't dead, and his cock is also not completely lifeless. Tim really appreciates everything John does to him - and John can see that. It's really hot. When skin on Tim's balls goes tighter, as John tugs at it. Drags his tongue across it. Squeezes it. And pinches it. And twists it. Tim's not opposed to anything. Not opposed to this. And that. Even to _shredding_. Tim lets him. Lets him do anything.

And Tim's anything, should it be stated, is pretty much unbounded.

John doesn't know that. He doesn't even know that he is still upset that Tim won't let him near his hole because he is not good enough - though Tim would, of course. To Tim John is amazing. 

But John doesn't know that.

But Tim is hot. John likes him. John is fond of him. Of him - and of his cock. His balls. That spot right under them he briefly touches with his fingers, lifting them up, tugging at them. Tim's hole... 

Tim's hole is red.

They have been having fun, they both have come, and now they are resting, after they have had a nap. And John is playing with Tim, and Tim's hole is red. 

It is because Tim hooked his fingers in it and they were almost dry, John figures. Because he clawed at it. Because Tim likes it rough. He said so. Said that his fingers were too... too...

 _Pampered_ is the word John isn't looking for.

He is still upset about it. But Tim's hole is red. And it is hot. And he really wants to touch it. He wants to play with it as well.

He licks his lips.

"Hey, are you..." John starts, not knowing what it is he's now bound to say.

"Huh?" Tim says, lifting his head and looking at him, face happy and relaxed, his eyelids heavy. "What?"

"Like..." John goes on. He's bound. "I know you said... I know you don't like it..."

"Huh? What?" Tim repeats.

A second later, a second, that stretches for much longer, John learns that what he was bound to tell Tim, that the word he wasn't looking for is _rimming_.

"What?" Tim says. "Who told you that? Of course I like it. What's there not to like?"

The next word of John that finds him itself is _you_.

"What?" Tim says again. "Did I?"

John purses his lips tight to stop it.

"Yeah," he says himself, pitch getting higher. "You said that you like it... rough. And rimming's not, you know. So..."

"Oh," Tim says. "Oh." He laughs. He - John doesn't know that, has no idea, wouldn't have it, were it given to him on a plate - is a bit embarrassed. "I just... I meant I only come like that. If it is... rough." You see, he doesn't like having to explain himself. "Because, you know... Otherwise it'll take forever. I might, but... We were in the fucking bus."

"Oh," John exhales without knowing that he would, because it's not like he can stop breathing.

"Yeah," Tim says. "And like... If you are offering, then... I'd love that? I mean, your fucking tongue... I fucking love your tongue. So... If you want, you... Do you?"

John smiles.

Not right then, just a bit later, because Tim adds, to clarify everything right then, to avoid having to explain himself some overly stretched time later, Tim adds _do you want my hole?_

Because who fucking knows what John might hear, if he's so incoherent, when he heard fuck knows what when he told it as it was. Maybe John'll fucking think he offers him to stick his tongue out. Maybe he'll think he promises him to buy him his own private bus. Maybe he'll think those things Tim can't really think himself and has to rely on reading them off John's face.

So he adds that. And that is why John smiles. And that, John smiling, is why Tim smiles too. Lies back. Then spreads his legs. And lifts them. 

Then Tim says _please_.

That is hot. 

And that is why John bends. That's why he drags his finger over Tim's red hole. That's why he does it slowly. That's why he then leans in. That's why he gives Tim his tongue.

Tim's hot. That's why all of that happens. That's why John plays with him. That's why it's fun.

It's also fun because Tim keeps his promises. When Tim offers something, it's guaranteed it will be received. 

So John receives a horse dildo. A collar too. And many bottles of flavored lube. Handcuffs that aren't fluffy like his old ones. One of Tim's guns - without bullets and only temporarily, Tim simply lets him hold it and then does some other things with it, but still. Tim's _gun_. And his own horse dildo.

Which is... huge. 

John's really happy when he sees it, but when he looks at it again, after some time, he feels he's not so sure, he is not sure it's possible to get it in. 

"Come on," Tim tells him, when he starts fidgeting and, after some more time, finally informs Tim that he's not sure. "Relax. "You've had this in you." Tim shows John his hand, lube now dripping off it. "This thing isn't that much bigger. So just relax? We've got a ton of lube. No one's in any hurry. It'll get in. I mean... Like, if you really don't want to, then just wait, I'll go grab another cock. But... We can get it in. I promise."

And since John knows, since John's already figured that Tim might promise things easily, but he doesn't promise lightly, John says _okay_ and nods. 

And Tim ends up being right. And the horse dildo... Well, duh, it ends up being in John's hole, where else did you think it was supposed to go?

They don't do it in the public bathroom, obviously, because that was not a promise. That was just reading out loud. But, because Tim's good at reading, because he likes John, they do it in John's bathroom, and Tim makes - god, it really doesn't have to be said that it isn't necessary, it is just fun - John look at himself in the mirror, a huge horse dildo in his ass. 

"Wow," Tim says, sounding - and being too - surprised, despite being the one who got it in there, and lifting his head, his eyes and smile wide, face happy. "Fucking wow." 

And then he glances at John's overwhelmed face in the mirror, starting to read the words on it in the reflection, since he is - he is - that good at that.

"Come on, you spandex fucking whore," he says, smirking at John, putting his free hand on the sink and his chin almost on John's shoulder. "Ride this purebread stallion for me. You fucking ass slut. You and you perfect fucking hole."

And... Should there be an _and_? Should we even say that? 

Well, okay. Okay. John comes clenching on the horse dildo some more time after that - and clenching so hard. Comes...

Like, if Tim had to describe the way John comes, you know what he'd say? He'd sa _y fucking wow_.

He would be lost for all the other words.

He's also a bit... disoriented, when, later, like when John can stand and think and breathe and fucking _be_ , he asks him if Tim wants to try it too. The horse dildo, right? 

Like, Tim simply blinks at that.

"Huh?" he says.

And John then tells him, as if Tim doesn't know, that he like things like that too, doesn't he like them, he likes having things, from small to pretty bulky, in his ass, he likes being fucked, and John hasn't yet fucked him, he isn't into that and...

"God," Tim says, exhaling, raking his fingers through his hair and trying to figure out how best to explain things that are, he thinks, might be hard to comprehend - just yet. "Look, I'm... Sure, I fucking love being fucked and I would ride that, if that was like... attached to someone who would love to fuck me, and if you want that, sure, go ahead, but... I'm already happy? If that's what you... I love your fingers. I love your fucking tongue. I love how you play my flabby bagpipe. It's all... You're amazing. I fucking love everything you do with me and there isn't... I am already happy. And if you aren't, by the way, if something's not... enough, I'll fucking fuck it out of you and we will do that too. Okay? I promise you I'll have my way with you."

And to that John giggles.

John giggles, because he knows what it means. It's not the end. No way it is the end. There's so, so much more fun to come.

________________________________________________________________________


End file.
